


Roll On

by Naughty_Yorick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, here be swears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: Jaime doesn't get why Tyrion is so interested in roller derby when he drags him along to the King's Landing semi-finals. It only takes a few matches (and a certain blue-eyed giantess) to realise what his little brother sees in it. Teen+ because swears.





	1. JAIME - Get your skates on

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I wrote a roller derby AU. I had an image in my head of Brienne teaching Jaime to skate and this happened. Enjoy! :D

**JAIME**

Jaime looks down at the tickets Tyrion slides to him across the table top. 

“Seriously?” he says, “This is your great night out?”

“Yes, seriously. Why…” Tyrion looks at Jaime in that way, that judging way. “Something wrong?”

“It’s just so...weird”

“Indeed it is, brother: just like me. Which I suppose must be why I've taken such a liking to it. Either that…”

Tyrion begins to swirl the dregs of his beer around in the bottom of his glass

“...or all the barely dressed women beating each other up” He downs the remains of his pint.

Jaime’s attention is piqued, just for a second, before he quickly returns to his serious self.

“I told you, I don't like that sort of…”

“Jaime! This isn’t some...strip club. This is sport. Look, come along, I'll buy all your beer for the night. If you don't love it I promise that next Friday we can sit in your flat all evening and mope, okay?” 

\---

Jaime isn't sure how Tyrion managed to convinced him to come. 

Outside the arena, Tyrion pulls off his hoodie to reveal a deep blue T-Shirt with a yellow starburst across his chest, the words “TARTH TITANS” emblazoned across it. Jaime raises an eyebrow and is about to comment when Tyrion cuts him off. 

“An away team. I know, I know, What would father say? They really are incredible, though - our team just isn't up to scratch this season”

Jaime lets this pass without comment and silently nods, as Tyrion continues.

“Obviously, all the main states have teams - then there's regional competitions, which is now, then regional winners compete at the final - that’s held where the last team won, so this year that'll be up north in Winterfell. Those fuckers are scary.”

He points at a bright red poster with a yellow fist smashing across it. 

“That’s the Kings Landing team”

Jaime looks at the sign and winces at the name - The King Slayers.

“It’s a good name,” Tyrion says, conversationally, “I wouldn't take it too seriously.”

After what feels like an age, Tyrion finally leads Jaime to a bar. After taking a long swig of what Tyrion has described as “the best craft ale this side of the wall”, Jaime finally finds his voice. 

“You uh...seem to know a lot about this stuff”

“My ex,” Tyrion explains, “She was into the whole scene. She played a little but never competitively.”

Jaime decides not to push his brother for more information so sips at his ale, enjoying the cool drink, his eyes wandering around the bar.

The barman, a youngish guy with short black hair and a bit of a far away smile spots him looking and gives him a friendly wave over the top of the glass he’s cleaning.

“Tyrion...is that Pod? Your old PA?”

Tyrion turns and gives Pod a nod. “Yeah,” he says, “I actually got him the job here. He pours pints, screen-prints T-shirts, turns wheels, that sort of thing. Last I heard some of the Highgarden girls were trying to convince him to go back with them - they say it's because he's a cute mascot but I've heard stories…”

Tyrions mischievous expression does not go unmissed. 

“Pod, seriously? That guy?”

“Yep...I’ve heard some of the Kings Landing girls calling him ‘Hot Pod the-”

Tyrion is suddenly cut off by an announcement over the tannoy for the first round of friendlies. He jumps down from his seat and motions for Jaime to follow him.

“Friendlies?” Jaime asks, precariously holding his drink up above the heads of the crowd as they weave their way through.

“The first hour or so is all friendly matches”, Tyrion calls back somewhere from the crowd ahead, “Well, friendly-ish. Teams who couldn't make it to the regionals, small town teams, that sort of thing. Doesn’t count for anything but it gets the crowd warmed up and they don't tend to do anything too impressive - so I can talk you through it”

Tyrion leads Jaime down a walkway and slides into an unoccupied seat right in the front row. Jaime squeezes himself next to him, nervously smiling at the heavily tattooed guy next to him. He takes another long drink and focuses on the arena - although he knows that’s probably the wrong word. The oval, banked track reminds him of the cycling velodrome at his old high school and he wonders how the hell anyone stays upright on it. He's about to ask Tyrion what the rules are - if there even are any rules - when the audience lights dim and a spotlight picks out a guy with a microphone who’s just wandered into the arena.

“That's the commentator,” whispers Tyrion, “he used to work on that shitty Pirate Radio, remember? Something-or-other Greyjoy”

“Urgh, I remember. What's he doing here?”

“He's loud and makes good puns”

“Right”

Greyjoy’s voice booms into the audience - “Ladies, gentlemen, my distinguished guests! I know why you're here - so let's get this fucking show on the road! Please can we give a big polite King’s Landing welcome to - the Rainwood Rockets and Tumbleton Tumblers!”

The audience bursts into applause and whoops as the two teams pour into the ring. Tyrion cheers, then starts to point out various players. “That one - with the star on her helmet - she’s the Jammer. She’s gotta get past the Pivot - with the stripe - and the Blockers - that’s everyone else. Following?”

“Uh…”

“It’s fine. The first time is confusing. Once they start you’ll get it.”

Jaime looks out at the women, now beginning to line up on the track. 

“And they just…” He says, “Just go around?”

Tyrion laughs. “Yes, brother. They just go around.”

 

**\---**

 

“Jaime”

He was sure Tyrion was talking to him, somewhere far away.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Jaime doesn’t respond.

“Come on, we’ve got 45 minutes before the first match, let’s go get another drink”

Five minutes later, Jaime finds himself back at the bar, another indie craft beer in his hand, watching one of the Rainwood Rockets flirting with Pod over a complicated looking cocktail.

“So, you liked it then?”

“Tyrion, that was insane. I remember playing ice hockey when we were kids and I thought that was brutal, but this! This is something else!”

Tyrion laughed. “I told you you’d like it. Impressed?”

“Very. Look, I’ll admit it - you were right this time. About this one thing!”

“It has been known to happen”

Jaime laughs and drinks.

“It’s nice to see you smiling again, Jaime”

Jaime wrinkles his nose. “Don’t start that sentimental shit, Tyrion”

“No sentimentality here, brother. You’re much more fun when you’re happy and I’m tired of drinking on my own.”

Jaime gives Tyrion a wry smile. “Should we be heading back?”

 

They find their way back to their seats just as Greyjoy saunters back into the velodrome to announce the first round of qualifiers - The Harrenhal Howlers versus the Tarth Titans (at this, Tyrion whoops particularly loudly), then the King Slayers versus the Thorny Bitches from Highgarden, the winners of each round to face each other in a head-to-head to decide who would progress to the finals in Winterfell. 

Jaime watches, now keenly aware of what’s going on on the track, as the two teams skate out into the centre of the ring. The Harrenhal Howlers appear first, dressed in dark browns and all wearing little fur shorts. He leans over to Tyrion and is about to ask when his brother manages to accurately guess at his question - 

“Their team mascot is a bear. There's some crazy bear stories in Harrenhal’s history, so they ran with it. Hence the fur.”

“Right…”

Jaime spots a Jammer in the group, a small, wiry woman with thick, messy brown hair. She has a smug look on her face which, Jaime realises with horror reminds him of his sister. She has “LITTLE BEAR” written on her back - her derby name, Jaime assumes.

Soon behind the Howlers follow the Tarth Titans, and Tyrion is now up out of his seat and cheering as the women skate out. They've stayed true to their name - Their outfits completed with Greek armour style skirts wrapping around their waists. That is, aside from one, who emerges last. 

Jaime’s eyes widen as he stares at her - she's giant, head and shoulders above the rest of the team - with a shock of electric blonde cropped hair. She’s broad, for a woman, almost as broad as Jaime himself. She isn’t pretty - quite the opposite in fact, with large lips and a flat, broken nose. She has startlingly blue eyes, exaggerated by the bright blue uniform. She wears a look of determination mingled with uncertainty - almost fear. One of the Harrenhal girls mutters something to her as she skates past, backwards, and the giant woman’s face sets into an expression which Jaime would hate to see aimed at himself. Unlike her teammates, she’s wearing pink shorts which Jaime suspects are made of leather, with dark gold straps around her arms and chest, almost like armour. Her shoulder and knee pads have been made to look like pauldrons. 

A biting, cruel remark springs up at the back of his mind. It’s the sort of thing that he and Cersei would have joked about: this tall ugly woman, clearly doubting herself, surrounded by smaller, slimmer, prettier women. The thought burrows in the back of his head. He downs his drink in one swift motion, washing it away. He doesn’t want to be like that anymore. 

The two teams skate around the track, egging on the crowd and basking in applause. A couple of the Titans wave or wink at Tyrion, and even the giant woman nods in his direction. As she skates past them, he notices the name printed on her back - BRIENNE THE BEAUTY. He’s about to ask Tyrion if that’s her real name or a pseudonym when Greyjoy walks back into the centre of the ring and the mic crackles back to life. 

“The bear! The bear!” He chants, in a sing-song voice, pointing towards the Harrenhal team, “All black and brown and covered in hair! The bear and the…” he turns, and stretches out his hand towards the giant woman, “the maiden fair!”

She scowls at him and flips him the finger. He laughs, she frowns. Clearly this has happened before.

“Welcome, friends, to our first deciding match! Once again the titillating ladies of Tarth vs the bear-ly there Harrenhal Howlers. Now, ladies; I want a nice clean match. Those of you who’ve seen these teams before…” the crowd cheers, “may know of a certain little feud between our lovely ladies. This year let’s put our differences aside and break some fucking limbs! Ladies: Let’s skate!”

He prances off as the teams split and position themselves on the starting line. Brienne - he has to assume that’s her name - stands as a blocker. The whistle screeches and she and the rest of the pack are off. She’s fast, really fast, and powerful too. He can’t help but stare at her legs as she pushes herself around the track. The second whistle goes and the jammers fly off. Brienne’s size is clearly an advantage for her here as she easily stands in the way of the Harrenhal jammer, far sturdier than a lot of the other women. 

The Tarth team really are good, Jaime has to admit. The friendlies were nothing compared to what’s going on now - the women working together, using formations which Jaime is sure must have technical sounding names. At one point, Brienne grabs the arm of the Tarth jammer and swings her around, propelling her out and around the group. Jaime hates to admit it, but Tyrion was right - the team is amazing, leading by several points.

Soon, the Jammers switch over and Jaime is pleased to see the tall woman now pulling the star cover over her helmet. She’s not as nimble as her competitor but she makes up for it in size and strength, soon lapping the team. Jaime finds himself standing, cheering as the pack speeds past, clapping and yelling every time they score a point.

And then, suddenly, everything happens very quickly. The wiry woman on the Harrenhal team appears, somehow manages to slip her boot behind the giant woman’s ankle, toppling her, then a sharp elbow finds its way up to a nose with a crunch Jaime was certain he could hear from his seat. He flies up, outraged, with a yell of indignation - “foul!” - as the crowd around him erupts with yells and boos. The giant woman - Brienne - crashes into the barrier just a few meters down from Jaime’s seat, cupping her nose with her hands as dark sticky blood pours down her mouth and chin. As her team mates crowd around her, the refs whistle screams and Greyjoy calls out - “And what a shocking display from Little Bear, that’s definitely a penalty for the Harrenhal Howlers!”

Jaime watches as Brienne tries to push away her teammates and skates into the centre of the ring, clearly mouthing - “I'm fine, it's fine” - and is sat down on the bench. Someone appears with a load of towels and an ice pack, gingerly moving Brienne’s hands to reveal a definitely broken nose and darkening eyes. She spits a thick globule of blood into one of the towels with a grimace.

By now, Jaime is beside himself. He'd broken his nose once as a teenager and he'd complained for days, and here this woman was demanding to be let back on. Her coach appears, a woman in her 30s carrying yet more towels and a bottle of water, and the two become stuck in an argument that Jaime can only get the gist of - the coach demanding that Brienne goes to A&E while Brienne steadfastly refuses. Another girl slips out from the pack and hurriedly whispers something to Greyjoy, who announces- “And that’s all, folks! Brienne the Beauty is out. Someone get that woman to a hospital!”

Brienne throws her hands up in indignation, blood splattering across the floor, but it’s clear that her arguing is doing her no good. The crowd cheers as she’s escorted back down towards the changing rooms, dripping blood the whole way.

At the Howler’s bench, the coach, a tall skinny guy with unfortunate facial hair, starts to chew out the girl who'd managed to break Brienne’s nose. Greyjoys voice booms out again - “And the referees have made a decision! Little Bear is to be removed from the match and banned from the next two competitive matches!”

The Howler’s coach begins gesticulating wildly at the girl, who sits with a smug grin on her face. Jaime wonders if it would be against the rules if he lept over the barrier and punched her himself. 

There’s a hurried discussion amongst the remainder of the Tarth team and another referee. They want to finish the match - to take the Howlers down - but once the blood is cleaned up and the match restarted it’s clear that the Harrenhal team have a newly found edge on the Titans. The remainder of the match is more desperate, with more near-misses and harder falls - but the Titans lose, only by a few points.

Jaime sags in his seat, defeated. 

The next match - the Highgarden Thorny Bitches versus the King Slayers - is equally as tense. Even Jaime knows about the bubbling hatred between the two cities, his father’s desperate machinations to improve relations failing at almost every turn. A very large part of him wants the Highgarden team to win just to spite his father - even though he's sure Tywin’s awareness of roller derby is even less than his own. He wonders if Tyrion’s steadfast insistence that the King’s Landing team are, as he put it before the match “complete horse shit” is a way of rejecting the city - and their father’s control - in his own, impish way. But within a few minutes he finds himself agreeing with him: the team just aren’t up to the job. The match is over quickly with a decisive win for the Highgarden team. 

Tyrion leans over. “I told you. Horse shit.”


	2. Brienne - Broken Noses & Hot Guys

Brienne spits another load of blood and saliva onto the gravel outside the arena, angrily.

“Look, Marge, is fine, really I don't need-”

“Remember when you broke your wrist last summer? And you said it was okay then three months later it healed all crooked and they had to reset it?”

“Yeah but-”

“But nothing! Get in the damn car!”

Brienne reluctantly slides in to Margaery’s car, careful not to get blood on the leather upholstery. 

“The Bitches haven’t even been on yet!” Brienne continues to protest, “You should be in there, with your team.”

“Oh, shut up. I'm not a jammer and they'll be fine without me. I - we all - want to make sure you get yourself an x-ray this time.”

Brienne sighs, wincing at the pain in her nose. Margaery looks sidelong at her then says, far too casually for Brienne’s liking, “Did you see the hot guy staring at you?”

Brienne splutters, then swears in pain.

“What the hell are you on about Marge?”

“Right in the front row, you nearly smashed into him when you hit the barrier. I swear to god he looked like he was gonna try and leap over and try some heroic shit”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “He was probably just into the match, you know how the crowd gets”

Margaery laughed, sharply. “I've seen guys getting into the match and that was something else entirely. Shame Little Bear took you down, you could have gotten his number”

Now it's Brienne’s turn to laugh. “A hot guy, seriously? Don't kid yourself, Marge.”

“Seriously! And he was sat with the Lannister dude who always comes to the matches, so you know he's not just some guy.”

Brienne furrows her eyebrows for a moment then - “Ah. His brother - gotta be. He's always saying he's gonna make him come to a match...Jaime, I think?”

Margaery nearly crashes the car.

“Jaime? Jaime Lannister? The most eligible bachelor in the whole of King’s Landing? Oh Bri - you really should have gotten his number!”

Brienne snorts in derision. “Like that would ever happen”

“Shit, I must not have recognised him in the light...fuck! What a waste!”

Brienne laughs disbelievingly. Margaery is far too kind to her. 

What feels to Brienne like an age later, they finally pull into the carpark and get her rushed in. Now thoroughly soaked in blood, Brienne gets admitted almost immediately and confirm a neatly broken nose. “Tell me something I don't know”, Brienne mutters to Margery as they sit in the waiting room waiting for the consultant to come and bandage up Brienne’s face.

There’s a buzz, and a sharp trilling noise. Brienne pulls her phone out of her pocket and a message flashes up.

“Ah, shit.”

“What’s up?” Asks Margaery.

“We lost. Not even by that much. Fucking-”

Brienne stands angrily to her feet, her hand forming a tight fist around her phone.

“It’s all my fucking fault. If I’d stayed on, or if I’d avoided Little Bear...that win was ours, Marg, and they took it!”

Margaery sits in silence, her lips pursed, watching Brienne pace up and down.

“Typical, bloody typical! Another year down the drain…”

She stops pacing and notices Margaery watching her.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

“Margaery!”

“Look,” Margaery stands up and puts one of her dainty hands on Brienne’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault. The Harrenhal guys are a bunch of arseholes and the refs clearly knew it.” She gives Brienne that annoying-yet-irresistible half smile she does, the corner of her lip twitching upwards. “They might even call a rematch.”

Brienne pauses. “You think?”

Margaery shrugs. “They might do. Stranger things have happened.”

Brienne rolls her eyes and shrugs Margaery’s hand off of her shoulder. “Yeah, they’ll call a rematch and that so-called hot guy gives me his number and we all live happily ever after. Right.”

Marg smiles again. “You never know.”

Brienne opens her mouth, ready to argue, when the double doors to the waiting room swing open and a doctor waltzes in. 

“Miss Tarth? Miss Brienne Tarth?”

Brienne bites her lip, dying to have the last word. Marg waves at the doctor and calls “Over here!”

Brienne finds herself being lead away. She shoots daggers over her shoulder at Marg, who gives a cheeky wink and a wave. 

“See you in a bit, Bri!”


	3. JAIME - To Winterfell

“Come on, brother. Let's see if we can find you a T-shirt.”

Tyrion leads Jaime outside to where several of the teams and fans have gathered, chatting excitedly and grabbing merchandise. Jaime immediately notices a bright blue minivan with the Tarth logo inexpertly painted on the side. Tyrion approaches the team first, the women still wearing their roller skates and helmets, clinking beers and encouraging a gaggle of teenage girls to buy posters. One of them spots Tyrion and waves him over. 

“You made it! And you kept the shirt - nice”

Tyrion grins. “Of course I'm going to support the best team in Westeros”

A blonde woman folding shirts in the back of the van sticks her head out and laughs. “Hah - yeah, that's why we didn't make the finals.”

Jaime suddenly finds himself speaking - “You didn't make the finals because that Howler woman fucking fouled Bri-”

He notices that he's not really a part of this conversation and stops, sheepishly. The women eye him with confused curiosity.

Tyrion steps aside and motions Jaime forwards. “Ladies, this is my brother, Jaime”

“Ahh, so you're Jaime.” the first woman says

“First time?” asks the woman folding shirts, hopping out of the van and walking over.

“Uh...yeah”

“Enjoy it?” She has a knowing smirk. The Lannister stubbornness nearly raises in Jaime but - what's the point.

“I...yeah. I mean…”

He looks down a Tyrion who raises a single eyebrow. 

“It was fucking incredible. How did you do that? Just...Gods! It was great!”

Tyrion laughs “I haven't seen him get so into something in years, I swear. When Little Bear got Brienne for a moment I thought I was gonna have to stop him running out there himself.”

The girls giggle and Jaime splutters, a hot blush rising up his neck. 

“We'll have to let her know she has an admirer”

“I'd really rather you didn't”

“Oh? And why's that?” The blonde woman suddenly has a glint of - something, close to malice, in her eyes. I dare you. It radiates off her like she's shouting it. 

“It's not...it’s just…”

More raised eyebrows. Jaime stutters. Tyrion finally steps in.

“Ladies, ladies. My dear brother doesn’t mean any harm. He’s only just discovered this fine sport and is feeling a little...emotional. And…” He looks up at Jaime conspiratorially, “he’s just gotten out of a rather...tumultuous relationship and is a bit...fragile.”

Before Jaime can press Tyrion on what, exactly, he means by that, Tyrion has moved forwards with his arms outstretched and what appears to be Jaime’s wallet clasped firmly in his hand.

“Now. Do we have any large T-shirts available today?”

\---

Jaime and Tyrion sit in a booth at the far end of the bar, empty glasses strewn across the table in front of them. After a very quick discussion, both had concluded that they had little to gain from going home and had decided to head to the nearest pub. Tyrion had tried to force Jaime to trade his top for the bright blue T-shirt he’d managed to convince him to buy from the Tarth team but Jaime had resolutely refused - but the night was still young.

“Surely we couldn’t go all that way…”

“Why not? Dad doesn’t give a shit what I get up to and you’ve got nothing…” Tyrion makes a vague gesture with his hands, “tying you down. Perhaps a couple of weeks up north would do you good?”

Jaime snorts. “Or I’d fucking freeze to death. Or get stabbed.”

“You’re more likely to get stabbed in Fleabottom than you are Winterfell. And it’s only cold outside - and we’ll be spending all of our time either in an arena or in the pub.”

Jaime makes a kind of half-hearted shrug. “Tarth didn’t even get in”

“Oh, are you a fan now?”

Jaime makes a noncommittal huffing noise. Tyrion laughs. “Come on, the Highgarden girls are pretty great and you’ve not even seen the Northern lot yet. You think Harrenhal is scary, the Northern ones are something else. And the Northern semis always include one team from north of the wall, who are even worse.”

“I should stay here.”

“Why? What’s keeping you?”

Jaime looks up at his brother. Tyrion waits. For once, he doesn’t fill the silence. He’s waiting for Jaime to say something. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s keeping me here.” Jaime finally sighs.

“Exactly. So in the morning you can book the flights and I’ll find us a hotel. Deal?” He stretches his hand across the table.

Jaime downs his pint and takes his brother’s hand. “Fine. Fine! You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of King’s Landing anyway.”

Tyrion chuckles. “How did you know?”

The pair fall into silence. Tyrion licks his lips - a sign Jaime knows means he’s about to ask him an awkward question. He looks up at Jaime, his lips pursed. Jaime can’t stand it.

“What. What?!”

“Nothing. Nothing at all...just…”

“Just what?”

“I’d never assumed she was your type.”

Jaime’s heart plummets. It’s like his stomach has turned to ice. This isn’t something he wants to talk about. It isn’t something he wants Tyrion to talk about. Gods, how does he know, how did he…

“Blonde hair, sure, but taller than you? Probably able to take you in a fight...never thought that sort of thing would interest you.”

It takes Jaime a few seconds to register who Tyrion is talking about. Slowly, cautiously, his pulse returns to normal and the icy feeling in his core thaws. 

“Jaime?”

Jaime shakes his head, snapping himself back into the real world.

“I suppose pretending I have no idea what you’re talking about won’t work?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? So I suppose you were making big gooey eyes at, who? Euron Greyjoy?”

Jaime groans and lets his head fall onto the table. He mutters something.

“I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that, Jaime”

Jaime peers up from his resting place on the table. “Good.”

Tyrion laughs. “Don’t fret, brother. Your secret’s safe with me. Honestly, I’m just glad that…”

Jaime finally sits up. “Glad that...what?”

Tyrion moves in his seat. “Don’t take this poorly. But...a few months ago, if I’d taken you to a roller derby match, you’d have laughed at me. You’d have laughed at those women. And if you’d seen Brienne…”

Jaime feels a sharp pang of guilt. “I’d have been a complete arsehole.”

“I was going to say rude, but ‘arsehole’ works too. Jaime,” Tyrion gently places his hand on top of Jaime’s, “I’m glad you’re not an arsehole anymore. Or at least, not as much of an arsehole”

Jaime laughs. “I try”

“I think you do, brother. I really think you do.”

Tyrion's phone pings, nearly breaking him out of his train of thought. He looks down at the pop-up on the screen and a neat furrow creases his brow. He goes to lock it when it pings again - this time, he swipes the screen and the message flashes up.

“Shit.”

Jaime stops laughing. “What?” 

Tyrion looks up at Jaime just as Jaime’s phone begins to buzz, vibrating across the lacquered table top. The two brothers stare at the phone, at the name flashing on it.

Tyrion stands up. “Joff”s in hospital”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really wanted to add a couple of canon events...sadly they're now in the wrong order. Whoops :P


End file.
